


Intoxicated

by razzleberry_b0at



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Language, Fights, Guilt, Happy Ending, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, M/M, Makeup, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Sad with a Happy Ending, Vomiting, no beta we die like george fighting endermen, sorry updates are slow lmao school sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razzleberry_b0at/pseuds/razzleberry_b0at
Summary: Just a short DreamNotFound story...Playful back and forth turns to drunken betrayal, fueled by guilt.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Kudos: 10





	1. If You're Too Shy (just tease)

The door to Clay’s apartment let out a quiet creak as they entered the front room. Clay closed the door and slipped off the dress shoes he chose for his evening endeavour. Behind him, George did the same before heading to the restroom to get ready for bed. Formal dates were especially tiring to him, although Clay wasn’t bothered by the higher social standards. Normally ideas like tonight’s would go no further than instant rejection, and they would instead spend date nights at home, cuddling on the couch watching movies or one of them would prepare a meal. Tonight, however, Clay managed to convince George to allow it to be his treat, pleading and practically begging at George’s feet. Reasons like “it’ll be romantic” and “I wanna show you how much I love you,” along with the occasional “please, Georgie?” 

George looked at his reflection, rolling his eyes at the blush he watched creep onto his face at the thought of the pet name. He had heard it a million times, yet every time it fell from Clay’s mouth, he felt the familiar fluttery sensation in his gut. 

When Clay entered the room, George was already in bed, nestled beneath the duvet. He smiled at the sight, receiving one in return as he started unbuttoning his dress shirt. The dark-haired man quickly buried his face in his hands and Clay let out a laugh.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, George. I still have a shirt on.” 

And he did; the white button-up slipped off to reveal an older, less formal tee. This earned a small scoff and an eye roll from his partner. He added his formal wear to the hamper and climbed in bed lifting the sheets to allow George to move closer, grinning as the smaller male rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes. He placed a small kiss on the crown of George’s head, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and running his thumb along his jawline. He felt the muscles in the brunette’s face tense slightly and watched the small smile appear.

The next morning George was the early bird whose worm was snoring peacefully next to him. He lifted himself from the sheets, careful as to not wake the sleeping man beside him, and moved meticulously through the tranquil atmosphere. The door to their bedroom closed with a satisfying click behind him before he continued to the kitchen. Clay would be up in about an hour so George had some time to make coffee and breakfast. He decided on the classic hotcakes and eggs. 

He placed the steaming cakes onto a large plate as he cooked them, and finished making the eggs. He poured coffee in two mugs and set them on the island, before returning to the kitchen to set out the honey and syrup. After he finished preparing the meal, he took the pan and skillet and set them in the sink, humming absently.

With a content sigh, he began serving himself, not hearing the figure approach behind him. The feeling of arms snaking around his waist caused him to tense slightly for a brief moment before realizing it could only be Clay. This was only confirmed further when he felt the hunched over man nestle into his neck, leaving a trail of affectionate pecks on the side of his neck, up to his jawline. 

"Good morning, Groggy," he rasped as he rested his chin on George's shoulder. "Breakfast looks amazing."

George only chuckled and leaned away so he could peck his partner's cheek. 

"So do you," he joked, earning an eye roll from Clay as he released the smaller male and began making his plate. George followed suit, pouring honey over the small stack of hotcakes sat in front of him. The comfortable silence the two sat in was only broken by occasional mindless chatter and light banter. Every morning had been like this since George moved in about a year ago. He would be the first to wake, have breakfast with Clay, and plan out the tasks for the day ahead.

Today was simple. All they had to do was small simple chores around the house, then Clay had a stream planned. Perfect. George appreciated the simple days where he could relax, not that he needed it. Clay, on the other hand, didn’t always fare well. He was very childlike in that sense; always wanting to do something, whether that be Minecraft or going for a walk or the random speedrun streams with Nick. He always had to be occupied. He had planned to go out for a drink with Floris later this evening so George could have some time to himself. They were both good friends with the dutchman and Clay had gone out with him and Nick many times, George usually opting out due to his distaste for alcohol. But this time, he was admittedly a little nervous. He knew that nothing would happen, Clay being one of the most loyal people he’s met, but it was one of those feelings you get for no reason. So George just ignored it.

After they finished breakfast they set their dishes in the sink, rinsing them off, and cleaned up the kitchen. They moved to the living room and plopped on the couch, Clay reaching over for the remote and clicking the power button, causing the TV to flick on and the quiet sound of whatever was playing to drift past his ears. 

The remote clicked softly as Clay sifted through the channels, a sigh leaving his lips.

“You wanna watch a movie on Netflix or something?” he asked, uninterested in anything on. 

“Sure.” George shrugged. He didn’t care what was on TV or if it was on in the first place. He could sit just like this, next to Clay, in complete silence, for all of eternity and never get bored. He shifted slightly to lean his head on his lover’s shoulder, only to be nudged off. He looked up at Clay in confusion but was quickly relieved when he wrapped his arm around the brunette with a laugh.

“You big baby. You seriously looked like you got told you couldn’t have any cookies until after dinner.” he rambled.

“Shut up,” George huffed, hiding a smile. Clay’s tired mindless babbling was pretty entertaining, even if he was teasing. He’s a dork and George loves it. 

With no warning, he was pushed onto his back, the taller man pinning him to the couch with a sly smirk on his face. George’s face burned as he processed what was happening. The two men locked eyes, the world freezing around them, chills racing down George’s neck and arms to his fingertips like a trickle of lightning as Clay leaned down and spoke softly in his ear.

“Make me.” George felt his heart race and his breath hitch, but the moment was shattered when Clay stood up and walked to the bathroom closing the door behind him, leaving the flustered male to tread through the morass in his mind. He lifted his hands to his face, covering his eyes. What the fuck was that? He knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t he? George tsked as his mind reeled. 

Two can play that game.

Clay’s keyboard clicked under his fingers as he commanded the character on the screen in front of him. George sat on the bed behind him, periodically speaking up to comment on donations or toy with chat. They had done this many times before, the only difference being George’s intentions. 

He stood up, silently approaching the focused player. He pressed his hands onto his shoulders and slid them over his collarbones, grinning as he felt Clay tense. He placed a quiet kiss to his jaw, causing the freckled man to quickly mute himself. George swung the chair around and locked eyes with a now very flustered Clay. 

“George, what the hell?” he questioned.

Instead of giving a reply, George slowly leaned into his ear, mimicking the movements from earlier, and softly whispered,

“There’s a village to your left.” He stepped back and left the room, satisfaction flooding his senses. When Clay turned back to his computer screen he slid the mouse to the left, and his eyes widened when he saw a village, exactly where George said it would be.


	2. Zero Hour, 9:00 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Alcohol Use, Drunk Characters, Slight Sexual Content (very slight, nothing happens)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took me so long. School, life, and my competition show kicked my ass... Anyway, the last chapter won't take as long, I promise. Enjoy!!!

George was sitting on the couch, wrapped comfortably in the blanket they keep slung over the back of the couch, watching the picture shown on the large TV screen in front of him. He was preoccupied with his thoughts and wasn’t fully paying attention to his surroundings until a pleasant softness brushed against his hand. Looking down to find the source, he met eyes with a certain yellow-eyed feline. 

“Hi, Patches,” he spoke fondly, greeting the cat. She purred as George scratched her chin. It was then the realization struck him. Clay had mentioned a few days ago that they were running low on food for the cats and they had yet to go get more. Guilt filled his eyes as he continued petting Patches and met eyes with the other smaller feline of his own from across the room. 

George stood and walked towards the room he shared with Clay, his voice growing louder as the older male approached the door. He rhythmically tapped his knuckles on the door before peeking in.

“I’m gonna go get food for the cats. I won’t be gone long.” His eyes met Clay’s before the younger gave a thumbs up. He closed the door behind him and got ready, wanting to look the slightest bit presentable. He grabbed the keys and his wallet before stepping out, the front door clicking closed behind him. The damp heat caused his palms to immediately begin sweating, though it was nothing new. He suspected it would rain soon, given a dewey smell in the air accompanied by the overcast sky. 

The drive to the market was quick and painless and he found a parking space not too far from the entrance. With the determination to get this store trip over and done with as soon as possible, he climbed out of the vehicle and entered the large store, making a beeline for the pet section. He grabbed a small shopping basket on the way in case he spotted something else they needed, which wasn’t a rare occurrence. When he neared the cat aisle, he pulled out his phone looking for the picture he kept of the bag, since forgetting was not a hassle he felt like dealing with. But the woman he ran in to likely would have preferred his poor memory over being bumped by the lanky fellow.

Before he could react, he heard a loud crash followed by cat litter exploding all over the tile floors. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” To say George was panicking would be an understatement, as he met eyes with the older woman.

“What is the matter with you?” She hollered, clearly not wanting an answer. The following apologies were ignored and the employee that approached them definitely did not want to put up with this either. 

“Here, I’ll help clean up. I’m really sorry.” He did as he said and it didn’t take long to clean. 

After a few more harsh complaints and apologies, the woman left George alone and continued shopping and the employee shot him an annoyed look before heading back to whatever they were doing. He let out a relieved sigh, finally matching the image on his phone to the bag nudged neatly on the shelf in front of him. All of this for the wonderful balls of fluff he would return to shortly, Clay included.

He made his way to the checkout and decided self-scanning would be best. He could only put up with so much social interaction, especially if it was an angry woman he bumped into while trying to find cat food. He followed the automated instructions and finished by paying and hastily making his escape.

When he arrived back home, Clay had finished his stream and was sitting contently on the couch with the TV providing a calm white noise while he presumably scrolled through Twitter. George kicked off his shoes and set the bag containing kibble and a few new toys for the cats on the counter, before sluggishly making his way to the couch and practically dropping all of his weight onto Clay. 

“Welcome home, Georgie,” he said with a laugh, adoration in his eyes. The only reply he got was a quiet hum as the doe-eyed brit snuggled into the green fabric of his hoodie. Clay felt the familiar fluttering of butterflies he’s known for as long as he can remember and smiled, running his hand through George’s hair. Moments later, George’s breaths slowed implying he had dozed off so Clay turned down the volume. He held the sleeping figure close, relishing in the serene moment. 

Around an hour passed and George stirred awake, being lifted gently only to be lowered seconds later. His eyes peeled open and the view of the tv flooded his vision. He became aware of the arms slung around his waist and smiled, adjusting slightly to look at the face of his lover only to see that he had fallen asleep as well. He took the opportunity to admire Clay, taking in the smallest details of his face. The way his eyebrow twitched now and again, the way his freckles decorated his nose and cheeks, the way his hair swayed slightly with the breeze of the fan. He was beautiful.

Moments full of admiration passed and Clay woke, green eyes meeting brown, a cloud of pink dust creeping onto his face.

“Good morning,” he blurted, admittedly flustered. The sound of George giggling rang in his ears like a bride’s wedding bells. Every laugh caused him to fall in love all over again; sending him back to the first time they met in real life, back to their first official date, back to the airport with tears in his eyes, back to their first kiss when George returned to Florida. Each memory makes Clay’s heart flutter, combined with the love of his life lying comfortably on his chest. His face burned.

“Hi. You look like a fucking tomato,” George cackled watching Clay throw his head back with his hands on his face.

“Fuck you,” He teased, voice muffled and coated with slumber. 

“No, you,” George snapped back, causing him to be flipped on his back for a second time, pinned to the cushion below him.

“Oh yeah?” Clay spoke, his voice low, set deep in his chest. George opened his mouth to speak but not a word left his lips. Clay lowered his head to trace the flustered man’s jawline with small pecks, each left his skin burning. He slowly made his way down to his neck, and that's when George realized.  _ He’s not messing around. He’s actually…  _ He felt a hand slip up his shirt, the slight movement making his stomach boil.

“Clay,” George spoke softly and felt a hot breath on his collar. “ _ Clay.” _

Clay immediately shot up, meeting eyes with the man below him. His brain was flooded with worry and fear. “George, I… Fuck.” He trailed off, lifting himself from the couch and facing the black screen of the television. 

“No, it’s- I thought you were joking.” George let out an odd chuckle. It wasn’t much, but it was honesty. He didn’t expect it. He wasn’t ready. A tense silence fell between them, both men being suffocated by thought. The brunette looked over at Clay, noticing guilt weighing his countenance with pinned eyebrows. “Clay, it’s okay. I’m okay,” George tried, he knew the man in front of him better than he knew himself, and he knew Clay was mortified. The two met eyes, Clay looked ashamed, and George embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry. I should have asked. You know I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, right? I’m so sorry,” Clay rambled, and had it not been for George moving closer to him, he would have continued. Instead of giving the blonde a verbal response, he wrapped his arms around Clay’s shoulders and held him.  _ It’s ok. You apologized and I forgive you. I love you.  _ The wordless reparation was received, and Clay hugged back as if George was a 19th-century porcelain platter, and would shatter with the smallest flick. 

The time for Clay to leave was nearing. George was on the couch, his laptop perched on his crossed legs with the TV on in the background; Clay was in the bathroom getting ready, although he didn’t plan on wearing anything too nice. He didn’t feel like going to a bar in sweatpants and a hoodie, so he walked out in an old white button-up with black, thin-fit jeans and a yellow jacket. Clay watched as George looked him up and down, like a father approving his daughter’s outfit for prom. 

“George,” Clay started with a soft smile, “you’re welcome to come.” George gave a worried grin and met his eyes.

“No, you know I don’t drink. Just promise you’ll text, okay?” He didn’t want his paranoia to get in the way of Clay’s night. 

“Of course.” With that, Clay made his way around the couch and leaned over the back of the sofa, placing a gentle kiss on George’s cheek. He was still drowning in guilt from earlier, but the night out with Floris would give him some time to sort out his thoughts. George wasn’t ready and that was fine. Clay was willing to wait as long as it took. He had George’s love and that was enough. He didn’t need anything else from him. He stepped out, deciding to walk seeing as the bar he planned on meeting the dutchman at was right down the road and ending up with a DUI was not on his bucket list. A heavy breeze blew through his hair as he slipped his hands into his pockets, taking the evening air into his lungs. 

George returned to editing, allowing his mind to wander. He remembered the first time he’d been around a drunk Clay; Nick and Karl had been visiting as well and brought a box of white claws. George had joined in, drinking one or two throughout the night, while Clay and Nick shotgunned two each, Karl cheering them on. Having two extremely competitive dumbasses as friends can result in some interesting situations. Drunk jack-box, where every time someone lost they had to drink, was one of those situations. When they finished with the stream, they decided on a movie, finally admitting they didn’t need any more to drink.

The night slowed when Karl fell asleep on Nick’s shoulder, Nick following soon after, leaving George awake with Clay. The man in question was hardly conscious, making the occasional comment about the sleeping couple next to them and how cute they were. Despite the many protests from Clay, George got up to lay a blanket over the sleeping couple. He leaned over the back of the couch and looked down at the drunken smile plastered on Clay’s face. He bent down, a small chuckle leaving his lips; he brushed the soft blonde hair away from the younger’s forehead, placing a kiss on the centre of his brow. 

After some light cleaning, consisting of throwing away the empty white claw cans littered around the small apartment, some crushed by Karl, he stumbled down the hall with Clay hanging on his shoulder. George was unsurprisingly doing most of the walking, and when they made it to their shared room, Clay fell into bed, almost immediately passing out.  _ That hangover is gonna be hell. _ He decided to head back to the kitchen to leave some ibuprofen and water out on the counter for Nick and Karl; he took a separate glass of water and a few pills to his bedroom, setting them on clay’s bedside table with a quickly scribbled note that reads,  _ ‘For that bitch of a hangover’ _ . He drew a small heart before joining his partner in bed, carefully slipping under the covers.

“George~” Clay slurred, dragging out the vowels and rolling over to face him. Before George had a chance to respond, the younger had his arms wrapped around his torso and had his head nestled into the crook of his neck. George let out a light laugh and adjusted so he was also on his side, holding Clay delicately to his chest. He melted in the closeness, taking in the scent of the blonde’s vanilla-scented shampoo, with hints of the flavoured alcohol only making the experience more intoxicating. He ran his fingers delicately through Clay’s hair, pulling him into slumber. He appreciated moments like these when he gets to hold Clay in his arms, as they didn’t happen often; usually, it’s the other way around. 

About an hour has passed and George finished editing. Video for tomorrow, check. He glanced at the time at the bottom of the screen. 9:08. He’s been gone for an hour. Maybe he could stream for a bit before Clay gets back. No, he’s far too tired. With nothing better to do, he stood, deciding to tidy up a bit. There wasn’t much to clean, but it was something to do. He started with the basic chores like dishes and laundry, each detergent filling his nose with the familiar scent. 

Another hour passed and George was starting to wonder why Clay hadn’t texted. The light from the phone lit up his face as he began typing a text. 

_ Let me know when you’re coming home <3 _ . Straight to the point while hinting at his worry. He clicked the power button, closing his eyes with a sigh.  _ He will reply. He’s ok. He’s a grown man.  _ George reassured himself. Everything was perfectly fine.

Clay honestly didn’t know how many drinks he had, his mind was foggy and his movement was uncoordinated, words were slurred and his cheeks were warm. He sat at the bar next to an equally, if not more inebriated Floris who was noticeably flirtatious. He didn’t think much of it, dismissing it as the alcohol messing with the Dutchman’s judgement. With every touch from the shorter man, George consumed his thoughts. Clay couldn’t wait to get home to him. He checked the time on his phone and noticed a few worried texts from the brit. 10:46. 

His attention was taken away from the phone when Floris reached over, resting his hand atop the device, meeting Clay’s eyes. 

“He’ll be fine. You’re just with an old friend,” Had his judgement been clear, he would have left Floris right then, but it wasn’t. So Clay stayed, setting the phone down and returning to the conversation.

_ Something’s wrong. Something’s not right. _ George thought as his finger hovered over Clay’s contact. He didn’t want to seem overbearing, but at the same time, he knew something was very off. Clay never ignores his texts. He was getting scared. He held the phone up to his ear, the sound of it reaching for an answer echoing through his thoughts. 

“Come on, Clay. Answer.” Nothing. It went to voicemail and George’s stomach flipped. The call went through so his phone wasn’t dead. His mind raced, searching for reasons he wouldn’t answer, drawing a blank. He called again, to no avail.  _ Fuck fuck fuck… _

He decided to give Clay the benefit of the doubt and allow some time for him to return George's calls or do anything to clarify he was ok. Having to will himself not to call again was horrid. He found himself anxiously picking at his nails, staring at the black screen ahead of him. He was hyper-aware of the phone next to him, using every drop of energy to not pick up the device. 

The thirty minutes that passed felt like hours. George had called one final time before deciding to go to the bar. He knew Clay should be home by now or at least have texted, letting him know he was staying out longer than usual. 

  
He steadied his thoughts to the best of his ability and stepped out of the vehicle, taking a breath with each step. He pulled open the large, glass doors and entered the crowded establishment, overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of the place. He approached the bar, looking for the tall blonde, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight ahead of him. Two men, one with his unmistakable yellow eyes open, and the other with his eyes closed,  _ kissing _ .


End file.
